


Roma, Nocturna

by versions91



Series: Close Protection [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, BAMF Mal, Bodyguard!Mal, Canon-Typical Violence, Close Protection, Escape, F/F, Fight Scene, Lingerie Kink, Mallorie Miles, Rome - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versions91/pseuds/versions91
Summary: Two drabbles, one night in Rome. For the 528-491 challenge. Unbeta’ed.





	1. Armando

Armando was a stone’s throw away from the Pantheon. Its glass-panelled rosewood door swung before Mal had pushed: she brought her gun to the face of a man who was decidedly not a restaurant staff, and the pointed toe of her Valentino Rockstud to his crotch. 

“Go!” 

She squared her stance to block the exit for Ariadne, as their adversaries swarmed the hallway to their left: one lunged and seized her left wrist for the gun and another pounced from the side. Pulling hard, she kneed her attacker in the gut and swiped him with a twist kick, knocking him sideways like a domino piece, before a wooden chair crashed overhead amidst her turn. Pain radiated from the back of her skull. In a dizzied moment, a body slammed her against the wall behind, crowding over her, stale-coffee stench brushing her cheek. He was no taller, but his grip was firm.

“A year going private and you've lost your touch, Mrs. Cobb.” 

He passed as Italian, with droopy dark eyes, dense brows slanted on a tall orbital bone and a trimmed beard, but his English was peppered with perfunctory Roman inflections, and his teeth oddly white. A foreign operative masquerading as a local goon, who needed some accent coaching, it seemed. His gaze were stony, but a tug of his mouth conveyed hubris and familiar malignance. 

She whimpered with open lips, her chest inching forward as it rose, and watched him leer at her submission, before she head-butted his nose straight on, breaking his hold, and slapped him with the barrel of her gun with a vicious backhand.

How she would love to pick these men off one by one; pity she had priorities to keep. Pointing her gun backward, she hopped onto the red Vespa parked round the corner, inked silk draping on black leather, not before she said:

“It’s Miles. Do keep up.” 

  


* * *

  


Ambush had been a possibility they considered, of course; some risks they had to take. Her mind reeled over details from the confrontation, as she drove south to Trastevere, ditched the Vespa, and blended in the after-dinner crowd. A few side steps and turns later, she slipped into a pasticceria lit in pale blue fluorescence.

“ _Ayeyeye._ ” The nonna at the counter greeted her disapprovingly, as Mal kissed her cheeks hurriedly and rushed to the bakery kitchen. There, Ariadne stood with a Beretta raised and ready to fire, before she quickly dropped the weapon and collapsed on the high stool, dazed and relieved. “Mal, Mal…”

“It took me longer than I thought, I’m sorry.” Mal walked over and flipped the Beretta’s safety on for Ariadne. And because she meant it, “You learn well.”

Ariadne’s cheeks are flushed. Was it the adrenaline or the compliment? Without a thought Mal found her right hand by Ariadne’s face, barely touching; Ariadne looked up with clear eyes and, finally, spoke.

“What now?”

 _She is completely frightened and ready to do anything._ Mal’s fingertips were burning.

“Let’s go.”

With her last ounce of professionalism, she dropped her hand to help Ariadne up. As they rode into the night, the heat from Ariadne’s blush was a ghost in her mind.


	2. Monti

Monti’s air was rustling with revelry. Black cobblestoned streets extended eastward in a long, uneven upslope, which ended at Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, a solemn and distant round-domed silhouette. Speeding along Via Cavour, they had left the Colosseum behind. Without iconography, Monti felt like it could be theirs. She didn’t know the name to the vines enveloping the house behind the decrepit stone fountain, to the pots of bright violets dotting bottom ledges of tall windows with green shutters, to wonky alleyways and staircases luring tourists astray, to that triangular piazza where two slopes crossed – well, she knew that’s where Fatamorgana was. It was on her vacation to-go list. 

The idea of a simple vacation sounded absurd. She just escaped half a dozen dangerous men with unknown agenda _on a Vespa._ She held _a gun._

Mal ushered her into their rental apartment. Streetlights leaked through thin white curtains; drunken chatter three floors below played in the background. In half-darkness, Mal took off her trench coat and hung it by the door, which was a startlingly quotidian thing to do given their circumstances. They should be running _for their lives–_

“Are we staying the night?” Ariadne paced in the open kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. “Tell me what you know, Mal.” 

Mal took quick strides to scan the space with a palm-sized device. (What was she, a _spy_?) She answered curtly. “One step at a time.” 

When Mal was finished with the sofa, Ariadne plopped herself down, trying to not think about the series of surreal incidents since 8:25pm and focus on the present.

Facing away, with one hand on the wall, Mal bent forward to pull her boots off. In a flash, Ariadne saw the back of Mal’s thigh holster strapped on top of black sheer stockings, just visible under the fluid skirt of her silk dress, drawn up and swaying softly to the side. 

The present was no less maddening.

But god, no one could see the way she looked at Mal now. She could hate herself later. Despite an ingrained sense of shame and honor, she was emboldened by the night to stare, and the memory of Mal’s thighs straddling her hips on the Vespa shook her loose with want. Mal had been and was wearing _garter belts_.

As she was stunned, Mal peeked over her shoulder and caught her in the eye. A furious blush shot up through Ariadne’s neck. All her sexual bravado dissipated in a hot second and she died a thousand times.

“I’m sorry, I,” She jumped and tried not to stammer. “St–That was rude. I’m sorry.”

Mal walked towards her, now barefeet. Ariadne couldn’t read her shadowed expression. She must have begun to hallucinate, as Mal was all too suddenly in her space.

“Yes, that was rude. Apology accepted.” Mal eased her back to sitting and propped up one knee beside her. “If you want to, just ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing femslash, Ariadne/Mal and a fight scene! Ooopfh.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please consider leaving kudos and/or comments if you like what you read! - V x


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